J Cameron & N Blomkamp's WEIJI
by Kaptain Kefiah
Summary: Milky Way, Ye 2174. The Known Galaxy is a complex macrocosmos, different races try to survive and coexist despite contrasting interests. An age of Crysis, of dangers, crucial points, and opportunities. Danger and Opportunity dance a deadly dance on this moon in the Alpha Centauri system, for those foolish enough to brave it, for any reason. Welcome to the WEIJI era.
1. Chapter 1

ENGLISH WEIJI

James Cameron's & Neill Blomkamp's

WEIJI

A Fanfiction by Kaptain-Kefiah

Chapter 1: Home is where the Heart is.

(POV Leon)

The first lights of the morning rose over the horizon, lighting the city of Sidney, thick gray clouds almost entirely covering a just barely paler sky. The skyscrapers of glass and steel casted humongous shadows over the streets, still lighted by the cold neon lights, the white ones of the light-posts and the multicoloured ones of advertises and holographic screens. The streets were freshly asphalted, and the great mass of people moved through them, almost all of them by foot, but on the cycle roads on the streets' side some of them were on bicycle, others on telescopic segways that moved lazily, transporting their users too tired to walk.

Under the street, extended the six floors of the MagLev Subway.

"Wow, not only the subway is not clogged up, but I even found a free seat, maybe it's a good day!"

Leon bowed while getting out of the wagon, and walked through the crow, heading to the stairs. He ran over the six flights of stairs until he reached the surface, and the moment he was out, he stretched, freeing his body from the aching of making the whole journey bowing down, then he cleansed his black jeans and his dark grey jacket from the journey's dust. A cold breeze of wind made him shiver, so he closed his jacket. All around him everybody was dressed warmly. It was April, but it was a long time April wasn't warm, in Sidney [1].

He took his shades from one of the jacket's pockets and put them on while his eyes got used again to natural light, and he adjusted the laces of the filter mask that covered the lower half of his face, then he gave a look around. He finally saw the metal stairs that allowed to access the public transport platforms.

He started walking in that direction, slowing down while entering the crowd. He looked around himself. As usual, he was easily spotted in the crowd, more than anybody else, he noticed many people were looking at him, some with just a distracted look, others staring longer. He looked forward and he kept walking, it wasn't the first time he felt eyes on himself, it was a long time since that stopped embarrassing him.

On his right he saw a lot of thin alleys with garbage containers covered by heaps of trash bags, many of them were ripped open and the content scattered out, on the street. Despite the filter mask he could perfectly smell the stench. Within the sacks there also were a couple of dingos busy looking for food, near there a huge rat jumped out of the pile of garbage and got snatched mid-air and pulled in the dark by a monitor lizard creeping behind a garbage box, farther a group of hobos was cooking food on a bonfire[2].

While he was walking, his attention was caught, among the neon and holographic shining signs, by a great holo-panel on a palace on the other side of the road, under it three great glass doors with red curtains and a writing advertising "Opera Cinema".

The holo-panel was a eighteen feet long, six feet high glass and optical fibres rectangle, surrounded by two chromed steel pillars. It was broadcasting a trailer, an asian movie judging from the subtitles with Chinese hanzi and Japanese kana; a ludicrously gigantic humanoid dinosaur, covered in dark grey scales and with silver spikes on his back, realized with a surprisingly realistic rubber costume, was emerging from the ocean breathing a blinding beam of blue light, destroying aircraft carriers loaded with white actor, or Asians with white make-up, with spray tanning, oxygenated hair and huge fake noses, dressed in American World War II Joe uniforms, screaming random English words[3]; scene change and now from a storming sky descended a gigantic Chinese dragon with crimson scales, made in CGI, flying over the jungle and making lightning beam from the sky, destroying tanks and choppers, on the battlefield Chinese soldiers in their ceramite power armour lunged to the enemy through fire and explosions, then a muscular Indian soldier and an equally well-built Chinese soldier were fighting back-to-back on a desert battlefield, reaping with two assault rifles each and kung-fu moves an horde of lamped Asians, dressed like Cuban soldiers but with huge fake moustache and sombrero, plus other actors dressed as Native Americans painted in blue and enlarged with CGI [4].

It was then the turn of an Atlantic movie: a greased-up body-builder on an assault MK-04 helicopter was flying over a jungle gunning down with a heavy rail machinegun an horde of Asians, and white people with Asian make-up, with big fake buck teeth and pointy years, then a bunch of Italian and British soldiers was opening a path through what looked like a medieval Arabian city, while an unknown number of Arabs, and white actors with Arabian make-up, with huge fake beards and turbans, threw themselves against them, howling like demons and brandishing scimitars clearly made of plastic; the Arabs were getting slaughtered by the gunshots and exploded in blody fireballs, then behind them emerged a white guy with a curly wig, fake huge ears and big, pointy nose, and a David Star on his forehead, who tried to back-stab the white guys leader, but was readily burnt to ashes by the flame-thrower of a German soldier who came out of nowhere; after that, the body-builder from before faced a gigantic Russian guy with a swastika on his arm and four black guys with leopard skirts on a leash, who leapt to attack drooling like rabid dogs before getting savagely mauled bare-handedly by the body-builder, and were followed by monstrous CGI humanoid insects[5].

It was then the moment of an oriental movie: a group of soldiers of the Mujaheddin Hunters elite force was running from a cover to the another in a swamp devastated by explosions, sometimes shooting some shots from behind a cover, then they activated their Jetpacks and soared through the battle, engaging with their assault rifles an horde of middle-eastern actors with straw hats and fake Fu Manchu-like moustaches, who attacked screaming like demonic monkeys and rotating katanas; in another scene a beautiful woman with Semitic traits and a white kefiah decorated with azure decorations around her neck was kung-fu fighting against white guys, and Arabians with white make-up, dressed as Waffen SS and with Hitler moustaches, then suddenly they stopped and fell to the ground, cut into pieces with geysers of CGI blood, revealing behind them a muscular Arabian man with his face covered by a shemagh that dramatically danced in the wind in slo-mo, wielding a bloody yatagan sword in one hand; it was then the turn of an Arabian soldier with underwater gear that moved in the cold ocean waters shooting with a sub-mariner rifle, got a hold onto the back of a monstrous, four-armed humanoid cetacean with more teeth than a chainsaw, and after a fast fight finished it by cutting it open from chin to crotch with a combat knife, spilling a cloud of viscera and blood... [6]

Leon kept walking, staring at the holo-panel, until he reached the mouth of the stairs to the platform, averted his eyes and got a light-post in the face.

"Fookendirtycheapsonnuvamother..."

The pain exploded in his forehead and echoed through his head, he made some steps back massaging his forehead with the upper right arm, trying to keep his balance he moved the other arms and the tail, that whipped the air a couple of time and hit a bystander, removing the filtering mask from his face. Leon pulled himself together and noticed the damage, picked up the mask of the gasping man and gave it to him, helping him to put it back on.

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't see you..."

"Watch that thing of yours, space-nigger![7]", the man, a middle-aged white in a brown suit, pushed him away.

Leon gave him a piercing glare "Call your fooken' sister a 'space-nigga!'"

"Your sisters sucks Prawn dick you Smurf!" screamed an old white woman clad in black.[8]

Leon turned and raised his upper right fist, but he stopped. The woman threw herself to the ground.

"Hey, everybody freeze!" cried a voice from a megaphone.

Leon turned. A police officer, in armored uniform with Urban CAMO pattern, protected by kneecaps and hub-caps, strengthened gauntlets, tank boots, protective breast plate and helmet, the face covered by a balaklava. The officer came closer until he stopped in front of Leon, and with a flicker of the arm the stun-baton he wielded in his hand extended, little white bolts crackled through it followed by a low buzzing.

"So, what?" the officer turned to his right and his left, looking at the people What's happening here?"

"This alien assaulted me, agent!" the man put himself before the cop "And he was about to the same to this lady! Arrest him before he could hurt someone else!"

"That's not true, officer" said Leon "I hit my against that light-post, and while I was stunned I hit that man with my tail, but I didn't mean..."

"He is lying! Space-niggers always play the victims!", screamed the woman while she got back on her feet.

"Ma'am, get a hold of yarself before ya get a stroke." the agent pointed at Leon "An'way, alien, ya better show me the documents."[9]

"Of course" answered Leon, taking his ID card out of his pocket. He presented it, the officer passed the card in a reader of his wrist computer and read the data.

"Mmmh... Leon Van Niekerk, born on Pandora in 2149, immigrated on Earth in 2161... moved to Sidney in 2169... junior and high school certificate... Academic? Ladies and gentlemen, we've got Brainy Smurf here! An'way... no crime records... well, ev'rything seems fine"

"What are you doing, officer? Arrest him!" screamed the man.

"Are ya by chance an officer? Or do ya have some other authority allowing ya ta teach me how ta do me job?" replied the agent while pointing the stun-baton against the man, who instantly froze "No? Well, then try ya'r best to stay 'n place, 'cause I got tired long ago ta write document fer ours each time some fucking alien as much as lifts an arm... "

There arrived another man, in his forties, with a jacket of lucid brown leather, white jeans, a ranger hat and a big beard.

"With all due respect, agent, th' boy be telling th' truth" he sais with a thick Australian accent, pointing at the light-post "I saw him meself get that in th' face, he didn't see th' man behind him..."

Another man, a white guy in his twenties with shaved had and a spiked black leather jacket, entered the discussion.

"The fuck you want, you commie faggot?" he said with a vague Russian accent [10], while he pushed the man "Are you one of those that want all of us slaves to your alien friends?!"

"Keep those hands down, before I make you!" exclaimed Leon.

"You better not make anybody do anything, alien!" the agent placed the stun-baton an inch from his chin, the buzzing of electricity made him freeze.

"Go blow yourself up for you Eya shit, we don't want you here!" shrieked the skinhead, while he kept pushing the Australian.

"Get your hands off my friends, honky!" another boy, a well-built Aborigine in a white t-shirt and jumpsuit trousers placed himself between them and hit the skinhead with a left hook to the face, making him fall to the ground. He screamed in anger and leapt on him.

With a leap the officer was upon them, and hit the skinhead in the back of the head with the stun-baton, when he fell on the ground another hit was for the neck of the Aborigine, then he started beating up both of them, white arcs of electricity snapped at every strike, until the two of them were on the ground, stunned and smoking.

"God, that was cathartic." the agent bowed down and handcuffed the twos, then he got up and pointed to Leon.

"Now, alien, kneel! "

Leon knelt down, and the officer slapped him in the fore-head, right were Leon hit the light-post.

Leon snarled with pain.

"Yar version is confirmed, alien" the officer turned off the stun-baton and put it away "and know disappear, before ya cause any more trouble!"

"Yes, officer." Leon answered atonally, who rapidly walked the stairs of the platform.

Behind him, he perfectly heard the voices.

"These space-niggers came here and think they can do everything they want!"

"It wasn't enough with the Prawns, the Snakes, the Chickens and the Monkey-Lizards, now we even have the Smurfs pissing aroud!"

"It's a fucking invasion!"

"We need the Master Chief!"

"Heck, we need Hitler!"

"We should nuke all of those fuckers off the galactic map, but the politicians are all a bunch of leftie pussy faggots!"

"But he didn't do that on purpose!"

"Who gives a shit!"

On the platform Leon looked around until he saw the explanation sign of the stops, on his right the train just arrived and people were getting on.

_New East Block, Green Line, Number 2._

He took out of his pocket a folded paper, then opened and read it.

Arrived at the stop of New East Block, he walked for 500 meters and reached the MagLev bus platforms. Now he had to take the Number 2 of the Green Line all the way to Rebuilding Square, ten stops from there. The embarking platform of the Green Line was on the sixth floor.

He walked once again to the stairs, and was about to step up.

"Talion! Talion!"

_Talion?_

"You want me?" he asked, turning around.

He found himself in front of a young black woman, tall and thin, with hair styled in short dreadlocks, wearing little round sunglasses, a green paille sweatshirt, a white top and jeans whitened by the long use.

She had ear-rings with multi-coloured feathers, a necklace of polished little bones, and tattoos similar to stripes on her cheeks and fore-head.

_I have an awful feeling about this..._

"Talion, you should have shown to those bastards, but you did well!"

Leon noticed an abbreviation on her top, written in black and surmounted by the silhouette of a Pandoran Woodsprite:

N.E.T.

Na'vi Earth Tribe. [11]

_Aw, fook no, not the Na'vi Earth Tribe!_

"I know the Skypeople should learn their place" she continued "but you acted wisely, and Eywa appreciates that..."[12]

"Eywa couldn't give less of a fook about that!" answered Leon, cold as ice, while turning suddenly and going up the stairs with rapid steps.

When he reached the sixth floor he walked directed to the embarking zone; there were two binaries, one for each side, and on the borders the embarking platforms. He stopped before the yellow line.

He looked around, on the sides of the platform there were covered benches, in the middle a line of neon light-posts around three feet one from the other with holographic advertise projected between them. Beyond the steel parapet of the platform he could see the street, the lights of light-posts and signs,and people walking by.

A raindrop fell on his ear, he shook it.

He heard the buzzing of the magnetic train, and saw it stopping in front of the embarking platform. Leon was about to get on, but he noticed that the holographic writing on the door said "Green Line Number 4", and he stopped.

He waited.

He looked at the watch: 06:41.

He walked to the benches at his right and sat.

He waited.

Another train came, but in the other direction.

He waited.

Another train arrived, Number 1.

He looked at the watch again: 06:52.

He looked again at the watch, but before he could read the time, he saw the train arriving: Number 2.

He jumped up, and reached for the yellow line.

He placed himself on the side of the door, and the very moment the descending passengers got down, he bowed his head and got in.

He looked around, no free seats.

He huffed and sat on the ground.

"Sorry" he said while a couple of passengers moved to give him some room. [13]

He noticed an abbreviation on the inside of the door: RDA.

"We are now arriving in..."

Leon shook himself from the half-sleep, he watched the stop: Martin Place.

One more stop.

Leon got up, still bowed, and looked out of the window.

He saw the old harbour, a mass of wrecked buildings, and more distant the remnants of a big building, the collapsed skeletron of what used to be concrete vaults. Once, he knew, that building was the crown jewel of the entire city.

The train stopped: Rebuilding Square.

Leon walked rapidly the stair flights to the ground, and once he arrived he looked around. In front of him there was the New Royal Botanic Park, an immense fenced garden, the street was crowded and many people were already walking in there, the entrance was full.

Leon went on, passing by the fence, on the other side of the street there were shops, restaurants, motels and bars.

He looked at the watch: 07:15.

He traversed the street, while he was walking he gave a look to the kiosks.

The neon sign of the first one he saw said "Bushmeat Galore, Shaw & Sons", on the board there were raw slices of various meat, and more meat, already cooked. Pigeon, wallaby, rabbit, cat and other not-completely identifiable "bushmeat", roasted, in soup, spitroasted, fried in small cubes in the gravy, the smell exhaling was all-around inebriating; he looked at a series of bunnies that were being spitroasted, smoking and dripping grease, then he noticed they were 20 Credits each.

He went over, and saw a smaller kiosk, the olographic sign shown the logo of a smoking spoon, and said "Get Full[RDA trademark]: Soups". Behind the workbench five cooks were working. Leon looked at the prices: five credits a normal soup.

He went closer to the workbench.

"'morning".

"Yello, alien!" answered one of the cooks, a white guy in hi thirties with tanned skin, short but bulky, dressed in a brown working uniform with whithe hat and apron with the kiosk logo on them. "How can I help you?"

"I'd like two soups".

"Algae, insects, 'shrooms or roots?"

"One with seaweeds, the other one with bugs".

"You want some extras?"

"What you got?"

"Onion, chicken or fish bits, peas, soy or beans, spices, cheese, maybe some additives."

"Some chesse, a little onion and peas."

"You are lucky, alien" said the cook "Today starts a one month promotion on cheese, and we offer DOP imported cheese! Real cheese, done the genuine traditional way, not the usual industrial shit!"

"A-ah" commented Leon, leaning to the workbench "And what you got?"

"French Roquefort for 40 credits, Italian Parmigiano for 38 credits, English Cheddar 25 credits, Indian Panir 26 credits, American Philadelphia 29 credits, Chinese Tofu 12 credits" listed the cook.

"...kind of too much, nevermind" answered Leon.

"'tsallright, let's go with the soups"

"Thanks... could you please blend them? And not too much onion. My kind... doesn't take it well."

The cook looked at him, puzzled. "...okay."

The cook put a big pot on the fire, got an onion and a pea can out of the freezer, emptied them in the pot and added oil from a tank; while this mixture was starting to fry he took two half a litre barrels, one with a green label, the other one with a beige one, and emptied them in the pot. After more or less five minutes he took a mixer and amalgamated the compost, then he spilled it from the pot into two bowels of pressed paper, he closed them, put them in a biodegradable bag and gave them to Leon.

"You want something to drink?"

"No, thanks" Leon took out his credit card "...how much?"

"10 credits for the soups, 6 for onion and 4 for peas, it's 20 credits."

_Shit._

"...fine" Leon passed the credit card on the sensor, greeted and left.

He finished swallowing the first soup, a complete lunch for a human but just slightly more than a course for him. He wiped his mouth clean with an arm and, without stopping walking, he threw the bowel in a dumpster.

He saw a series of paper posters in glass bulletin boards, near the wall on his left.

They all presented the same subject: an icy wasteland torn by fire and explosions, and on close up a commander of the Spetznaz Special Corp [14], with tactical uniform and termic trench blowing in the wind, and ceramite plates protecting shoulders, forearms, legs and chest, was stepping on a pile of slain enemies; in one hand he was wielding a rail assault rifle with telescopic scope, grenade launcher attachment and a blood-dripping bayonet, while the other pointed the finger to the viewer; above and beneath the picture there were, in both English and Russian, the claims "Defend TRUE freedom..." and "...YOU too give your contribution to the army of the International Nation Consortium!". In the lower part of the poster were smaller slogans, each one with his own exposition, like "Good monthly pay-check", "Access to specialized qualifications", "Economic facilitations", "Chances for a prestigious career", and "No non-humans allowed, for non-human elisting talk to the unofficial PMCs".

He finally arrived in Rebuilding Square, immense and crowded with people, surrounded by shining skyscrapers, and in the centre of the great street there was a lot of green areas, with people resting inside, on the grass, under the trees, on the benches.

One of the skyscrapers, shorter than the others, built on an hexagonal plant and with a landing platform for airships, caught Leon's attention:

Interspecies Commonwealth Administration, Sidney Branch.

Leon walked though the square and reached doors: there were two soldiers in kevlar armour, similar to the one Leon saw on the police officer, down to the Urban CAMO coloration, but empowered with a ballistic mask. The only other difference was the "ICA Security" writing on the breast-plate.

The weapons were on a whole different level than the cop's stun-baton: modified venusian electro-rifles.

One of the guards barely looked at him, the other one seemed more interested. Leon passed the photo-cellular doors and entered the building.

Inside there was a great room with the floor covered in white hexagonal tiles and grey walls, and in the middle there was a fountain with an interred black pool, covered in small neon lights placed to shape constellations, and in the middle of the pool a marble pillar composed of space-ships.

On top of the pillar there was a sphere so big it could contain Leon himself, rapresenting the Earth, with luminous optical fibres rapresenting the continents and white lights indicating major cities; the water pouring from the top of the pillar was making the orb spin on itself.

Around the fountain there were ten benches, where some of the employees were sitting to take e breath. The offices were in a circle on each floor. In the middle there was nothing, and an elevator on each angle.

Leon went on.

"Ehm, excuse me,sir" said a security guard on his left "you can't proceed further without inspection!"

Leon went back, and saw the guard pointing two of his colleagues with detectors in their hands.

"Yes, of course" he answered, reaching them.

"...Please kneel and raise your hands"

Leon obeyed and the guards passed the detectors around him. One of them lighted up in red.

"Please, take out any metallic object" ordered a guard.

Leon took out of his pocket a couple of swiss camp cutlery, and the detectors were passed again.

No red light.

"Allright" the guard put the cutlers in his pocket "Go to the ground-floor wardrobe to have those back"

"Okay... just one question: do you know were the employment office is?"

The guard scratched his chin, thinking.

"Employment office... oh, yeah!" he pointed at the stairs with a finger "Tenth floor, Eastern Wing, Office 14, ask about Grigorj Dolzaev"

After going up all of the stairs, Leon stopped to take a breath.

"Fook, fook, fook..."

Then he walked through the hall, on his lefts the offices and on his right the railing on the inside of the building. After a few metres he found a door: Office 14 – Employments.

He entered the waiting room, with more or less twenty occupied chairs, and four tables with half-bended tabloids.

On one side there was a big window giving on an equally big balcony, from which you could have a magnificent panoramic look of the entire city. Outside the sun had completely risen, but the sky was still dark and cloudy.

At the sides of the window there were two potted plants, a ficus benjamin and a palm.

Leon noted with pleasure that he could stand on his feet without headbutting the ceiling, walked a few steps and knelt on the ground, near a table.

He looked at the watch: 07:58.

His appointment was at 08:10.

He took a tabloid, the less damaged, it was a gossip paper of the past month, he already read it at Leila's home.

He put it away, and a paper came out, landing near his left foot.

The article was about the latest formal clothing choices of Xi Zhaoqian, current Empress of the New People's Monarchy of China. Leon took the paper with his feet and folded t until he made an origami, then he put it on the table.

An Aborigene woman dressed as a biker, sitting on the chair nearby, looked ad it curiously.

"Nice" she commented, taking the origami and inspecting it "is it a Banshee?"

"Nope" answered Leon "A much more humble crane"

He leant to the wall, looking out of the windows.

Some raindrops against the walls.

A part of the city was new, with shining skyscrapers of steel and glass; another part was far older, of smaller palaces and skyscrapers, the old city that the Great Catastrophe didn't devastate.

He saw something soaring from the spires of a skyscrapers, and looked with more attention.

A falcon, flying to the old city.

Then something bigger dived down from a bigger skyscraper, caught the falcon in its bill, changed direction and landed on the edge of the balcony. It was a big reptile with membranous wings, at least six metres wide, slender and muscular, covered in short hair on the body and scales on the rest, walking on the bent fingers of the wings. The head on top of the long neck was short and billed, with big birdy eyes and an impressive red crest, striped with scarlet. A tapejara, a small pterosaurus.

The tapejara looked into the room, almost everybody turned to watch it swallow the falcon.

Leon looked for a moment, then avetrted his eyes.

"Mister Van Niekerk?" said a voice with a strange inflexion.

"It's me" he answered, standing up.

He found himself in the presence of a tall, proportionate man, dressed in a formal dark blue suit, and long white hair in a ponytail. The milk-white skin made of polymer plates that partially showed moving mechanisms, black plastic joints and cold eyes with lucid blue pupils, behind which microscopic robotic components were visible, identified him as a synthetic.

"Creator Dolzaev finished just now his meeting, sooner than expected" said the synthetic with a metallic-sounding voice "And he ordered this unit to check if Mister Van Niekerk had already arrived"

"Very well... can you bring me to him?" asked Leon.

"This unit was sent appositely" replied the synthetic "Follow me"

The synthetic walked to the office, and Leon followed him.

The office, around six meters for five, was well kept, without any trace of dirt, a big closet on the left, with ring binders and drawers for memory drives, and a huge window on the right, near a Pandoran plant similar to a palm, with lots of Cat Ear plants growing on a side, which had long leaves emitting a faint bioluminescence.

On the wall behind the desk there was a Venusian fresco portraying an hunting scene, a wicker Pandorian shield, and a photo of the San Basilio Cathedral.

At the desk, with holographic computer and pomagranate plant, was sitting a man in his forties, Caucasian, with a thick beard and well-cured brown hair, large shoulders and muscular body. He was wearing a formal human suit, white with black border, and on the chest-pocket a symbol composed by three hexagons in the shape of a pyramid.

The symbol of the ICA.

The man got up, revealing his almost two meters of height, and smiled.

"Ah, Mr Van Niekerk. Not too hard to distinguish!" he commented "Excuse for idiotic joke of me, but I has never saw infamous 'Talion', and excuse English mine, just transferred from Moscow branch, still not used at speaking it entire day"

"No problem"

They shook hands.

Mister Dolzaev was one Pascal short from crunching Leon's.[15]

"Weird surname, yours one..." asked the man "Dutch one, maybe?"

"South African"

"Ah, da, right, you are of Johannesburg... please sit, not long ago introduced chairs for your people, we have!"

Leon took the chair, expanded and reinforced, and sat.

"So" Dolzaev sat back and leant on his elbows "you has wrote in yours mail that you wish to enter our project recent, da?"

"Yes" replied Leon "In the last months I informed myself on the latest ICA projects, the ones concerning the Preservation of Planetary Ecosystems"

"M-mh, and what ecosystem interest for you?" asked Dolzaev "Earth? Venus? Mars? Yilkthan? Rhakasha? Pandora?"

"Pandora" answered Leon "I transferred here in Sidney from Johannesburg to study at the ICA University, one month ago I completed the studies of Applied Xenobiology, or better, I already completed those, at ICA I completed my specialization in the Pandorian one, then I took part in some stages both in the Central Reserves here in Australia and in some bio-parks in South-Africa. Also, I followed the lessons of the current director of ICA's Pandoran Biology Research branch, Doctor Norm Spellman"

"Spellman? Da, great scientist! Worthy heir of his teacher, da!"

"Plus" continued Leon "I have a second academic certificate, non-specialistic, in History of Interspecies Relationships." he pulled out of a pocket a memory drive and a folder "speaking of which I have here with me copies of all the certificates and of my curriculum, and the same on the memory drive"

He gave them to Dolzaev, who put the card in the computer and checked the data.

"Mmmmh... born on Pandora in the Tsyal'ka'li Clan, transferred to Earth, in Johannesburg and then in Joburg... high school certificate at Johannesburg's Jean Claude Van Gogh High, scientific class, academic degrees to the ICA University confirmed in the archive... worked as a shop-helper, a waiter and a waste collector... Da, kind of low in working field, but sure competences can be very useful, Mr Anderson and nephew did great good recommending you. You lucky Mr. Van Niekerk, almost sure that you assumed in our project, in case we sent you pre-paid ticket to the Alpha Centauri system, we decide in more or less a week"

"Thanks"

Mr Dolzaev took an employment document from a drawer in the desk and gave it to Leon.

"Sign here, here and here, please"

Leon took a pen and signed.

He came out from a service exit on the side of the building, on a platform linked to a fire escape.

He looked at the city, the palaces and the streets, then he raised his eyes to the sky.

Pandora.

A vibration came from a pocket of his jacket, he took his NeoCell and verified the signal: Samuel Anderson.

He pushed the little blue button of the ovoid instrument, and three holographic projectors activated, manifestating the monitor; Leon adjusted the dimension and resolution of the monitor and activated the camera.

On the monitor appeared the timer and the signal indicator, followed by the face of a Poleepkwa, with dark, spotted exoskeleton and clear eyes. His facial tentacles moved rhythmically while he was talking.

"Hello, Sam, where are you calling from?"

" _Hello, Leon._ " answered Sam, with subtitles on the NeoCell monitor to translate poleepkwa language " _I'm calling from the ICA Space Station number 25, so forgive me, but I'll have to be fast, these FTL communications are expensive as fuck even with our technology_ "

"Don't worry, I won't waste much of your time" replied Leon "What do you want to tell me?"

Samuel hesitated " _First, how did the employment meeting go_? "

"Very well" answered Leon "Maybe we'll see in a couple months!"

" _Eyup..._ " Samuel hesitated again " _...listen, I have to give you bad news. _"

Leon was puzzled.

"Why? What happened?"

" _A few days ago, my uncle and I were sent to inspect and monitor the activity at the Ka'li..._ "

"Metal Ka'li?" stopped him Leon "You mean my..."

" _Of course I mean that, that's why I'm calling you!_ " answered Samuel " _We were following one of the last operations, about cutting some threes to increase the habitative district, but while the squad was working, a Thanator attacked, it assaulted our operators and our local contacts, and..._ " Samuel stopped.

"...and what?"

" _Some of them got injured...gravely injured... including your uncles, Leon._ "

Leon was startled.

"My... my uncles?"

_" Yes, the doctor curing them are doing everything they can " _continued Samuel_ " but, you know, between the injuries and the physical decay, they don't give them much hope... maybe a year, maybe less..._ " he stopped " ..._I'm very sorry._ "

"You have no reason to be sorry, it's not your fault... I'll be there as soon as I can"

"_Meanwhile, send me the money and I'll do what I can to find you a place to live"_

Leon lowered his eyes. He didn't answer.

" ..._Leon? _"

"I... thank you, Samuel" he raised his eyes again "You are a true friend"

" _My duty_ " Samuel saluted " _I hope to see you soon_ "

"Me too... bye!"

" _Bye!_ " Samuel pressed a button and the communication was interrupted, the holographic monitor turned white.

Leon pushed the red button on the NeoCell and the monitor disappeared.

A raindrop hit his right ear.

Then the rain intensified.

_Just great._

He pulled up his jacket to cover his head and started to walk again, under the rain.

(hours later)

He looked out of the palace's window, the sun had already set. Not that the city was any darker: the cold neons of the lightposts enlightened every street and mixed up with the multicolour flashing of the holographic signs.

He passed the corridor and arrived in front of a door: Apartment 114.

Leon took out of his pocket [16] a key, the door read it and unlocked the keyhole. He turned the key and the door opened.

He entered the anteroom. On his right a box with a mirror over it, on his left a coat rack with three more jackets, and in front of him a door. He put the key and the sunglasses in the pocket of the jacket and left it on the coat rack.

Among his three jackets there was one he didn't remember. It was a grey hoodie, and it was clearly too small for him.

He felt something.

"What is this awful stench?"

His tongue snaked out of the gap in his upper lip, tasting the air.

A bittersweet scent, that reminded him of a stinkbug.

He raised his ears.

"In the name of Eywa, does she still use that perfume?"

NOTES:

1)Apparently, alien immigration changes climate. Hello, I'm the translator and the comedic commentary you'd like to choke in his sleep!

2)What, those hobos got a perfectly fine Monitor Lizard around, even coming with a free, already murdered rat, and they want "better" food? Jesus, Australians became a bunch of sissies in the last century.

3)A Century in the future and the legend of Godzilla is still so strong they keep re-releasing his past movies. Hail to the King, motherfuckers.

4)Why Na'vis should work with Cuban terrorists is beyond my ability to comprehend, but I'm mostly puzzled by the sheer fact that the Author managed to write trailers like that in a way that actually makes me take them seriously.

5)I know this movie is racist as fuck, but I can't avoid to think it would be one of the most epic trash movies of all time.

6)In case it wasn't clear by the sheer amount of pure, unadulterated, negative stereotype-free badassery just displayed, the author has just a itsy-bitsy tiny little bias in favour of the general Middle Eastern culture.

7)Not to be confused with the atrocious movie "Gay Niggers from Outer Space".

8)Originally, the insult was "puffone", literally "Big Smurf", but there was no way to make it function in English. I turned it into "Uncle Smurf", from "Papa Smurf" and the notorious character "Uncle Tom"; I think it is the kind of creativity that could be displayed by people who go around calling aliens "Space niggers".

9)This story takes place in Australia. I think it makes sense that some people got an Australian accent. Mate.

10)Oh, the deliciously cruel irony of a Ivan Drago wannabe that uses "communist" as an insult.

11)Apparently, those guys are some of kind of idiots who think that, if they wear inaccurate replicas of another culture's symbols, while despising THEIR OWN culture, they and the other culture will be soul-brothers or something. It makes exactly as much sense as that time Justin Bieber tried to legally change his ethnicity to "Afro-American" in order to boast about how he was the richest "bro" who ever lived.

12)Okay, girl, first of all: you are a Skyperson as well. Second: the Na'Vi called the humans like that because they LITERALLY SAW US COMING DOWN FROM THEIR SKIES, but you should know that's not something your species usually does. Third, it is not physically possible for you to know what Eywa thinks. Partially because you are not on Pandora, but mostly because, not being you a Na'vi (or any kind of Pandorian life-form for the matter), there is no way you can access the Great Mind even if you were there. Stupid poser.

13)There actually ARE random decent, non-racist humans; I'm as puzzled as you, readers.

14)In Soviet Russia, Rob Liefeld wants YOU.

15)Quantify that Leon is more or less twice his size, and plus, being a Na'Vi, has carbonium-armoured bones and hyper-dense muscles. What kind of murder-machine is Dolzaev? And, more importantly, why the heck is he behind a desk? Shouldn't he be on the front line, taking down space cruisers by watching them with moderate annoyance?

16)How many fucking pockets does this guy have?

humboldt soup with hagfish wine


	2. Chapter 2

**(POV: Leila)**

The door of the wagon opened, she shouldered her way through the crowd, and jumped off.

The girl got out, fixed a bit her grey hooded coat and cleansed the dust away from her jeans with the gloved hands, then she looked at the stop map.

_To reach the Front enter the corridor on the left._

The neon lights of the corridor were old and gave out a yellowish glow, a couple of them was out of commission, the roof let water pass and was covered by a huge blot of greenish moss, the walls covered with black fungal blots and hole in the covering, the floor encrusted almost entirely of filth and fossilized chewing-gums, the benches covered in blots and writings, one so much that the overlapping words were absolutely unreadable.

On her left were the doors of a public bathroom, and she could see the white walls completely blackened by writings and dick doodles, the floor covered by blots and pools, but the spectacular thing was that it was not only from that place that the reek of piss exhaled[1].

_Kak, I knew I should have got off later!_

She looked around.

_...Whatever, the Front is near, by now it's good to go on._

She shrugged and kept walking.

The only sound was the one of her steps and of the air conducts in the corridor, she saw one of them was broken and a couple of technicians were working on repairing it.

She went away, passed to the right and found herself in front of a huge staircase. She ran to the top and went straight forward.

The corridor met with three more, and the architectonic style was not edgy and blunt like the rest of the underground, the roof was a cupola, and covered by time-whitened little bricks, just like the walls covered in murales and writings. There was a strong scent of fungi.

A sound of steps was the only one.

Four steps at a time.

She stopped, grasping the pepper spray in the right pocket of her jacket, and turned.

In front of her she saw a black man that towered over her of at least an entire head and probably more, with wide shoulders and thick arms; his air was cut very short, completely shaven on the sides, his face was covered by maori tattoos, and one of his eyes was a burning-red eyeborg; his mouth was opened in a smile that showed straight and clean teeth, of a white that almost shined in contrast with the ebony skin.[2]

He worn a golden yellow packed gilet, a white t-shirt, stitched working trousers and trekking shoes.

And around the neck, a necklace of human teeth.

"So?" she calmly asked "What do you want?"

"G'd evening, lil' lady!" he answered "Sorry to annoy ye, but during the last beatin' b'twin gangs me watch got broken" he raised his arm showing a watch with a shattered display "Could'ye tell me tha time?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Give me a second..." she gave a look at her watch "… it's 19:38"

"Oh, good!" commented the man, while he cleansed the sweat from his forehead with an arm "I'mma still in time ta buy some bread!"

He turned back and walked away.

"Thank you very much, and beware, there's a lotta bad thugs goin' around here!"[3]

Leila watched him getting away, then she shrugged and walked off.

Five hundred meters later, she went up another staircase, and found herself in a different corridor: the roof was taller, and the walls were freshly cleaned, so that there were less graffiti (whose style, by the way, was not only human, some of them were poleepkwa hieroglyphics, others were languages she didn't understand). Near the walls there were old metal boxes, trash cans and barrels used as campfires. Leaning to the walls there were many people, humans, but also some Poleepkwas and Na'vis.[4]

A sound caught her attention.

The sound of an instrument, like a guitar.

On her right she saw the source: a bipedal creature, wrapped in a brown cloak with white geometric decorations and a rhomboidal straw hat, that covered silver feathers and digitigrate bird legs, arms ending with four-fingered hands, a long tail with a fan of red iridescent feathers at the end, and a bird head with a fanged reptilian face, with two big eyes of a brilliant green. The dinosauroid was sitting on a old juta carpet, and played a musical instrument formed by a hollow rhomboidal central part with three holes in the middle, at the extremities two arcs of wood linked by thin metallic strings, that he played with a plectrum kept between the teeth while modulating the tension with his fingers. [5]

The girl went closer, took some money out of her pocket and left three credits near the player. He chirped at her in gratitude, then started playing again.[6]

She reached the exit of the underground, and emerged in the underground zone of the alien district of Sidney.

At the sides of the great street the inhabited buildings, for each of the six floors there was a bridge link to the opposite building, and under those everything was lightened by neon lights. At the ground floor there were shops and restaurants with holographic signs, and the street, full of people, was divided at the center by a long line of bushes with benches. [7]

She walked through the crowd, suddenly a group of children, three humans, a poleepkwa with a plastic bag and a kothra, came to her and started bouncing around her. [8]

"Hey! Hey!"[9] said one "How are you?"

"You haven't been here in ages!" said another.

"You know, it's that I've been busy." she said without stopping walking.

"_Where-are-you-going?_" chirped the little Kothra.

"I'm going to visit a friend." she answered.

" _By the way _" the little Poleepkwa pulled her jacket " _My dad told me to give you this! _"

"What?" she asked.

The baby gave her the plastic bag " _He wanted to thank you for helping him to get in the evening course! "_

She smiled at him.

"Oh, you shouldn't have!" she took the bag and looked inside: food in a cloth "Now, sorry, but I've gotta go."

She walked away while they kept waving off to her.

When she was distant enough, she rummaged through the pocket of her jacket [10], and sighed in relief when she felt the wallet.

She reached a staircase, ran to the top and got to the sixth floor, where she walked to an elevator, she pressed the button and waited.

She got out of the elevator and found herself in a corridor with a clean linoleum floor, white walls covered in writings and graffiti, the covering of the roof was full of cracks, and the neon lamps emitted a warm white light.

She went on, keeping an eye on the number of the metallic doors on her right, while on the left there was a line of windows showing the street, higher then the floor, revealing the corridor was actually underground.

She finally found the number she was looking for: 114.

She took out the magnetic card, inserted it in the lock and it switched open.

The girl went in, ending up in an anteroom, on her right there was a box surmounted by a mirror[11], on her left a cloth-holder with three more jackets, and on her front another door. She put the key back in her pocket, got on her tippy-toes to hang the jacket up and entered the door.  
>She was in the dining room, approximatively eight for five meters wide, slightly taller than three meters, with light grey walls lightened by a neon abat-jour, on her left there was a cooking plane with sink, oven and hob, the fridge and a little door for the stocking room; a couple of meters away there was another door, leading to the bedroom. On her right there was the bathroom door, a brown bed-couch with argyle decorations and two metal six-shelves closets with books and holders for memory cards. Between the two closets, a television was attached to the wall, and under it a metal table with newspapers. All of the room furniture was weirdly proportionate, bigger than usual but still accessible to a human.<p>

_He hasn't arrived yet... well, let's get cozy._

She walked to the cooking plane, took out the present from the bag and unwrapped the cloth: on one side ten spherical bread-forms covered in beige pastry, a little smaller than her fist, on the other one a spherical bottle of silver liquid, more or less a foot tall.

The girl took a plastic dish from a drawer and put five of the breads inside, took it and the bottle and put them on the table near the couch while sitting.

She took one of the breads and bit into it: the flavor of Yilkhann lichen flour, bread and wallaby meat invaded her mouth. She munched and swallowed.

She took the pad out of her pocket [12] and lit on the display. There was the picture of a spotted hyena, with big black eyes and the spotted fur the color of carnelian, sitting in a red doghouse. She pressed one of the icons of the screen and opened the e-mail inbox. She selected the last message:

"_... We communicate that Mrs Leila Hiederose Nomusa Pfeiffer, doctor in Applied Xenobiology with specialization in Paondorian Biology, has been hired by the Pandorian Researc Division of the Interspecific Commonwealth Administration, and is invited at the transferring to the research center of Installation 44, Eastern Archipelagos, Pandora..."_

She put away the pad and drunk from the bottle, tasting the creamy alien booze.

She kicked her shoes off and lyed on the couch.

_Pandora._

Six years of university, six years of dreams and illusions, and now it didn't even seem real it was so close.

Take a huge weight off her back.

"A new life on a new world" a new beginning, leave everything behind and start anew.

Leave the old Earth behind, the bickering of the Human Factions, the ruin, her pain...

she looked at the wall in front of her, on the right of the bed-couch: a lot of photographies hanged to the wall, and one in particular, bigger than the others, caught her attention.

It was taken in a sunny day, on the stairs of the Jean Claude Van Gogh High School's entrance in Johannesburg, and shown three figures ont the stairs, looking at the camera

She was in the middle, eight years younger, wearing a pair of bleached jeans, with a thick leather belt, sporting a skull buckle; a South African flag was tied to her waist, she wore a white tank top with multicolor geometric drawings and a light sea-blue jump-shirt that left her forearms exposed. She also had a pair of circular-lens shades and round ear-rings.

On her right there was a young Poleepkwa, with the kaki exoskeleton shading in green and white, spotted in dark green; he had light-orange eyes and black face tentacles; he wore Pompeii red knee-long jumpsuit trousers with big pockets a vibrant orange t-shirt with white Poleepkwa hieroglyphics, a dark purple gilet with hood, light purple wristbands, and a dark blue helicopter hat with a solar-powered fan, the 2166 summer fashion for the South-African Poleepkwa community.

On her left, instead, there was a kneeling Na'Vi, with long white hair in a ponytail, wearing a sleeveless kaki jump-shirt with hood and tribal decorations, a gray t-shirt with long sleeves, fingerless kaki gloves, and large army trousers with Desert CAMO pattern. [13] On his face he had a pair of metal sunglasses with square lenses, and he wore a filter mask, while his head was covered by a beige bandanna with argyle decorations.

_God Vark, he already liked that shit!_

She gave a little smile, but, taking another bread, she heard a sound, a sort of high-pitched chirping [14], coming from the bedroom.

From the door came a flat, bulky snout, vaguely dog-like, with big round ears and big black eyes, covered with mud-color fur shading in black. It was kept up by a muscular neck decorated by a mane of lucid black fur, while the spotted hair shaded in a creamy white on the belly; around the neck it had a collar with a military medal, and a red bandana with blue-borded white decorations sewn on it. One of the ears had a scarred lob, with a surgical scar.

The spotted hyena looked at her, chirped again and and almost smiled, with the long tongue hanging and the curved teeth in sight.

All fifty nine of them.

"Ficus!" she shouted with joy "Come here, you kleine bastarde [15]!"

The 130 pounds hyena almost demolished the door propelling itself out of the room faster than a starving Poleepkwa with chemical hunger on a can of cat food, stopped half an inch before the couch, climbed on it with the front legs and started to sniff and lick her face, she managed to turn her head so she didn't get licked on the mouth, then she hugged it and scratched its side.

"Aw, you cutie, you already healed, uh?" she playfully asked while the hyena jumped on the couch at her side. Leila caressed his head, playing with her finger in the mane, while the hyena grunted in delight [16].

She took the beer again and drank some more, and watching on the table she noticed a newspaper.

She looked at some pages.

A report of the INC army operations against the Atlantic Alliance [17] and the Oriental Brotherhood in the Southern Sahara and against the Asian Pact in Madagascar.

Some news about the updating of the new, cutting edge, last generation Wormhole propulsion systems.

A crime of passion.

Other armed fights between Animal Rights Activists [18] and Machine Right Activists, thirteen dead and twenty seven injured.

Olga Canari interviews herself. [19]  
><em>Fok, no.<em>

She kept herself from reading more.

_Even the interview to herself, is it even possible to fall lower than that?_

She surrendered.

"_… and now enough with this pseudo-goody-two-shoes attitude, the interspecific dialog is bullshit and everybody who says thinks or acts otherwise is blind deaf and mute in front of the unwatchable unstoppable unspeakable atrocity that our species is forced to to be subjected at since over three centuries, as if there was the chance of a dialog with those hordes of invaders, because only useful idiots don't see this is an invasion, but nobody has the balls to say things the way they are, the infestation of the politically correct faggots is too extended, poor Mother Earth now mauled by the tortures of the space niggers and nobody has the scrote to react..._"

She bit her lip.

_"… because here, dear boy, quietly quietly stealthy stealthy a genocide is happening, the genocide of human race, the genocide of our civilization, the genocide of the light of knowledge and glory that we inherit from our culture, our civilization is an incomparable light that enlightens the darkness of cosmos, and from those pitch black abysses are emerging those space niggers, an horde of invaders monsters murderers, to ravage poison kill, and destroy this supreme divine perfect light that we represent, that they want to smother blot out annihilate!__[20] __There is no Civilization outside the Earth, there are just and only masses of drones flesh automatons without sentience identity intellect like the prawns, the chickens and the Smurfs__[21]__, that or else plain and simple nazis like the snakes and the monkey lizards...__[22]"_

She cringed her teeth.

_"… that even calling those beasts "space niggers" is a compliment, at least niggers are still human beings (and anyway my dear, back in my days calling nigger a nigger wasn't racist at all, shoo shoo shoo this asinine bogus for politically correct queers!), those aren't even that, they are sub-human, inhuman, nay unhuman! Is there by chance anything remotely human in the Smurfs, an infestation of savage squatters who never managed to create a culture, good only at screaming killing slaying and sacrificing everything that moves in the name of their Eya Eya guy __[23]__ and of the blind fanaticism with which they perpetrate terror? And the Chickens, quacking pirate peabrains and murderers with less brain than a pigeon that only know how to kill and rob and ravage the weak __[24]__, they never created anything on their own and can only copy form other unhumans, the rip-off of a rip-off! And the snakes? A dictatorial Nazi empire that invaded our solar system and sacked as it wished and nobody could do anything, how to forget their invasion of America, Gibraltar and and the Holy Land, the Sacred Roots of our perfect civilization destroyed and desecrated without a punishment, our women and our children killed or maybe captured tortured and sold as slaves in zoos and harems__[25]__? How to forget the monkey lizards, the politically correct bitches made themselves historical revisionists and forced us to forget what murder sprees, what slaughters, what atrocities we suffered at the hands of those slimy, drooling monsters during the Venusian War, the eaten children, the burnt colonies, the ships torn down, we will never know how many men, women, children, elders, newborns, boys and girls were slayed ripped killed, how many millions, how many hundreds of millions, ma it is better like this because stoically we at least shall not give to the lizard monkeys the satisfaction to know what painful scar they inflicted upon us, at least they won't dance around the streets drunk rotten on their own bloodlust... __[25]__"_

"The total victims of the Venusian War, from 2102 to 2125" she thought "has been estimated at 140 millions, of which 20 humans, 80 h'yaech, 30 khral, 10 poleepkwa, over 80% of the victims were civilians." [26]

_"...atrocities that today due to the tricks created by those ICA communists will repeat identically equal even on Pandora, and now some blindfolded cuck collaborationists will start spitting out that the-venusian-war-and-the-pandorian-war-have-been-invasion-wars-and-the-smursfs-and-the-monkey-lizards-had-the-right-to-defend-themselves, poor mass of lobotomized youngsters with no will to work, reason of shame to your fathers grandfater and ancestors __[27]__, the right to have a homeland is to be conquered (and I would take it away from them along with the vocal chords, so they stop annoying us), and the smurfs and the monkey lizards haven't done nothing anything and zero to conquer it, humanity had all the right to take those planets __[28]__, our one and only fault has been to listen to certain idiot egghead professors and not breaking their spine from the beginning! To them I still ask where they see humanity in the most disgusting rotten stinking apple of them all, in those filthy prawns, that for centuries, for welcoming them with all the honors __[29],__ to repay us had infested degraded and dirtied the poor Johannesburg once jewel of the crown of Africa, nobody with a little bit of heart but most of all of balls could have tolerated to see those gibbering beasts and the wonderful terraces that under their onslaught rot and degraded like beautiful gang-raped women..."__[30]_  
>Her fingers clenched over the paper, her nails torn it.<p>

_"… and I tell you precious how I would solve this problem: a rain of napalm like there is no tomorrow and poof, problem solved! And this reminds me of the good old times of the Second South-African Conflict, when in Johannesburg there was no space or time for this bullcrap, at the time I was right there and I interviewed the Schwarzevulf (as he was called by the Sons of Abraham, who feared him greatly), Sergeant of the Rapid Assault Squadroon Ratel always on the front line for the defense of the Civilization, an handsome and manly Mandingo with ebony-black skin and wonderful blue eyes that were almost like blood diamonds, a shining example of how the one and only Civilization elevated even that continent of troglodytes __[31]__, ah the way he cleansed the street from the prawns filth with a flamethrower before they even managed to be born, there was nobody..."_  
>She threw the magazine in a corner, then she wiped the border of her eye.<p>

Ten years ago she was the journalist that pushed her to be a woman of culture, to go on with her studies and to work hard. Now she was another proud member of the wild bunch of pens-for-hire that, in exchange for their servitude, the Human Factions parties rewarded with TV apparitions and seats in the Parliaments.

She read tenths of articles like that one, all identical to each other, since eight years ago she has been reading those, and every single time it wasn't the lies or the bile to hurt her, it was the sense of betrayal.  
>The same betrayal someone else reserved to her... <p>

She drunk what was left of the beer, then she touched her left shoulder and massaged it, it was one of those times it still hurt.

Then she heard the door unlock. 

So, it's been a time but my friend :icongambzilla: finally got the time to finish the second chapter.

Meet the first human character of the story: Leila H. Pfeiffer!

P.S.: Leila is South-African, the ones she spits are Afrikaans profanities.

*Kak: shit.

*God Vark: G*d Swine

*Fok: fuck.

Moar on his notes:

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:iYou still don't wanna kill me? There's still time./i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: I'm not, nobody else will translate this if i do.

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[01] Wait, she is in Milan?/i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: No, just some generic urban decay.

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[02] Oh, so THIS is were Manute went after he left Sin City./i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: Who? you mean the black guy that, because Frank Miller, is also a nazi played by Samuel L. Jackson?

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[03] "Hasta la vista, baby. If you ever need me... I'll be back." I now DEMAND a chapter where the protagonists are in trouble and this guy comes with alle the gang to save their asses... by wrecking the ones of basically everyone else./i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: Don't tempt me...

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[04] Poor people living in harmony, helping each other, without giving importance to the superficial differences. It's like the teachings of Saint Francis of Assisi. Or the hobo friends of the titular protagonist in the "Spawn" comics, whatever swings your boat./i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: In Africa, slums are where the seeds of the new dawn are planted...

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[05] It's an Australian, sitar-playing Velociraptor Mariachi. And that's not the most amazing part. The most amazing part is that the Kaptain was not on mescaline when he wrote this./i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: Of course not*SNORT*

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[06] And now, with the chirping, the guitar and all, I'm thinking about Gilda from My Little Pony. Fuck. And I'm thinking about it mostly because the Kaptain says that if Gilda was human, she would be his kind of girl. Then he usually says that, unfortunately, HE wouldn't be HER kind of girl. Yeah, don't ask me how, I managed to slip in this a MLP GilDash Yuri thing. My place in Hell is set./i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: You better never mention that again, already told you no matter how much you try, i'm not a horsef***er.

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[07] Wikus filmed here one of his most, if not THE most, (in)famous movies: "Big Trouble in Little Pandora". For some reason, he hired a senile former Ha'lyss mafioso who lost half his tail to diabetes, for the role of the Lo Pan expy (the same actor later played Fu Manchu in "The League of Extraordinary Gentleprawns"). The movie was so "so bad, it's good" it literally won every single Razzie Award for everything, for three years in a row. Reb Brown, notorious trash star, known as "The Poor Men's Flash Gordon" and "The Diet Coke Rambo", the first man to win the Razzie Award for Worst Main Actor, was so touched by this madness (he said it reminded him of his own early career), that he used his fortune to finance further cinematic miscarriages by Wikus, and to institute the Reb & Wikus Award for Trash. The last winner was a re-telling of the story of the notorious historical figure Jake Sully, only with various elements ripped off by old Ed Wood Jr's movies (and, if possible, even more grotesquely bad-executed, mostly because one of the vice-directors was a constantly high former Razorback hunter with ever-growing ADD, and the other one was the director's girlfriend, a bondage maniac with furry tendencies who got the diploma at the Cinema School by fusing her perversion with Tarsem Singh's style), confederate zombies, Space Pharisees, Dracula, El Santo, a battle between a drakkar-looking Ha'lyss steampunk airship and the original model of Ray Harryhausen's Kraken and Yimir, the Na'Vi version of Captain Nemo, the robot from Fritz Lang's "Metropolis", various blaxploitation versions of classical Beat'em Up characters (unforgettable the Afro Liu Kang, and Chun Li with oxygenated rastas), Hercules, Xena, the Pillarmen and Commander Miles Quaritch (whose last name they managed to misspell and mispronounce every effing time over the course of the movie, often with truly hilarious results) portrayed as a sort of satan-looking albino M. Bison dressed in remains of Xenomorph, and played by notorious wrestler, metal player, biker, UNICEF ambassador and Tim Curry wannabe, Dwayne Johnson the Fifth, who insisted to have the character sing a villainous song of lust about Neytiri, Frollo style. The part of the gladiator fight, taking place in Kweryatch's fortress (specifically, in a Coliseum suspended on top of an active volcano), was accused of cruelty towards animals (especially the authentic, unadulterated fight between a Palulukan and an illegally cloned Tyrannosaurus Rex, but also the one when Kwaaaryetch gunned down an army of weapon-trained Pandoran monkeys, although they used rubber bullets and red paint for that), but nonetheless became quickly famous, for the extremely corny and hammy tone of the line "This is our land!" by the protagonist, which spawned a grand amount of Internet memes. The writer/director/producer/guest star of the movie was almost shot dead by a commando of pretty pissed off members of the N.E.T., and he later admitted that, maybe, the graphically gruesome exploitation scene in which they cut Neytiri's arm and replaced it with a vast array of weapons (including a flamethrower, a Venusian electric rifle and an M1-Garand) with the Pastoral as background music, could have been too much for the most sensible audience, to whom he gave the advice to "grow a pair or stop going to watch NC18 movies, you bunch of pansies". Also, Hirohiko Araki (still alive and in his prime for reasons that no sane man would like to know) could have sued him for inappropriate use of his characters, but he was too busy laughing his ass off by watching the movie over and over again. To the accusations of ripping off, among other things, many elements of Edward Burrough's works (including various pointless scenes of Neytiri dressed as Dejah and Jake dressed as John Carter, facing various classic enemies of the Barsoom Cycle and a cameo of a futuristic Tarzan, caused by a wormhole that teleported them to Pellucidar, because of reasons), the author, while in hospital for the gunshots, shown his middle finger to the camera and answered, and I quote: "Bite me, I won the Reb & Wikus Award, I earned the right of not giving half a fuck!", later revealing that those scenes were primarily to satisfy his kink for the kind of dress he made the lead actress wear; the movie is 187 minutes long, but the extended special edition reaches 256 minutes of pure, genuine, unadulterated, batshit insane awesomeness. Simply a must for every lover of trash. Among the deleted scenes, there was the one in which the director portrays Ming the Merciless, the fight between Cworeetkh and the Three Musketeers, the part when Jake Sully turns into Shiva and says "Now I have become Death, destructor of Pandora" (they used a Na'vi with giantism and six arms as a stuntman for that scene), the Poleepkwa Chiang-Shi army, and the fight between Gorgo and Gyaos (the copyright owners both failed, and now those Kaijus are public domain), but the last one was actually a sex foreplay between the director and his girlfriend, wearing the costumes; they edited the most explicit parts, imported it into a digital landscape, and called it a day. Noteworthy also the part in the Forgotten City (a declared attempt to fit inside all the most WTF things from the craziest Sword & Sorcery movies) and the fact that the opening was basically a metal remix of "Yor: Hunter of the Future"./i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: ...Do you still remember to take your pills?

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[08] Like Pope Francis in Brasil. Only the corrupted policemen didn't kidnap those kids families to force them to convince the Holy Father everything is all right./i

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[09] I swear to God, if he says "Hey, Listen!", I'mma wreak his shit. Get it? Because this line is by "Navi" from "Legend of Zelda", and in this story there are Na'vis... yeah, I know, I'm gonna bury myself for the shame./i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: As if you didn't already...

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[10] Is there anybody around here who doesn't go around with a redundant number of pockets? Seriously, between the pockets, the grotesque megazilion of super firearms of District 9 and the new Na'vi anatomy, this fanfiction is becoming something helpful for when Rob Liefeld has trouble climaxing!/i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: Already told you, in the WEIJI-verse his descendants founded an industry producing pouches for military and civilian use.

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[11] "Mirror, mirror on the wall, whose father is the most fucked-up of all?"... Trust me, you will get this one later./i

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[12] Liefeld, we meet again!/i

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[13] A doll as a prize to who guesses who this guy is/i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: Sure he is not Yo-Landi Vi$$er.

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[14] OH MY GOD, Gilda really IS coming! Convert to the Power of Metal, or she'll go full "Black Lagoon" Revy on your sorry pale ass!/i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: ... *Revs up the chainsaw*

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[15] German for "little bastard", it remained in the Afrikaans dialect as a bellic residuary after the Boer War./i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: Oh well, Netherlandese is already a mash-up of English and German, Afrikaans is not different.

(P.S.: if we f***ed up on the language, please tell us, we'll correct)

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[16] Wow, hyenas became a lot cuter since they stopped working for British Nazi-communist lions. But unfortunately, they no longer have their Doovhakin. /i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: It's a Crocuta Crocuta Familiaris, a domesticated subspecies created through selective breeding and genetic splicing, basically a spotted hyena, only smaller, smarter and less likely to rip you apart at the drop of a hat. They still didn't manage to eliminate the beast's unhealthy appetite for roasted cheese. Males are favored as pets since they are smaller and less prone to challenge the master's authority.

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[17] Sadly, no connection to Atlantic Rim. God, that movie is crazy./i

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[18] Wow, we are in a distant future, we know we are not alone in the universe, we can travel with wormholes and we created sentient machines, with all the moral implications this causes... and ALFs still go all bat-shit crazy because someone is wanting sentient machines to have rights, and they think animals should come first, despite being pretty clear that, in this setting, the machines (or Synthezoid, or whatever nerd technical name you wanna use) are advanced enough that their sub-routines might become able to develop actual free will. But no, of course it's more important to try and forbid people from making painless tests on animals to cure human cancer. Priority, people!/i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: Robots and aliens are not cute and fluffy.

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[19] Little explanation for the non-italians: Olga Canari is based on an Italian journalist and writer, Oriana Fallaci, one of the most relevant figure of past century's Italian literature, but also one of the most controversial. She started off as an activist, fighting in Greece against the Colonels Regime, to the point that she married the leader of the resistance. However, she later became a monster of pure fascism, writing long essays concerning the need to exterminate various cultures and asserting the superiority of white people. She wrote entire articles dedicated to insult people who criticized her extremism, and this earned her nicknames such as "Strychnine Journalist", "Professional Hatemonger" and "Pulitzer Fascist". And, yes, she wrote a book in which she interviewed herself, partially to avoid having to listen to critiques, but mostly because (and that was declared by herself) nobody but her herself was worthy to ask her about anything. Basically, her ego can be seen from space, dwarfing the visibility of the Great Wall of China. She is more hateful than the fortunately late Reverend Phelps, and more self-centered than Donald Trump. She proposed to create extermination camp for black people, gipsies and Muslims, among other things. The way Olga's article is written is also based on Fallaci's style. By the way, "Fallaci" is the plurar form of "Fallace", which is Italian for "Prone to failure". Nomen omen./i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: Explanation: Oriana Fallaci was one of the greatest italian journalists and writers...until 9/11, then she became nuttier than Pamela Geller and Robert Spencer together, still unknown if her "rewrite the Mein Kampf but replace 'jew' with 'muslim' and call it a day" ramblings were the result of senility-induced insanity, a calculated effort to milk the climate of terror for money, or a combination of both, i personally don't want to know that and to remember her former self. I still despise the cult of conspiracy theorists that formed around her after 9/11.

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[20] This sounds an awful lot like the Imperium from Warhammer 40k, with the difference that that setting is really full of crap and species with whom peace is impossible./i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: If only everyone could just convert to the church of Papa Nurgle...

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[21] Ah, ignorance, you truly are racism's natural ally! To elaborate, the Poleepkwa do have, in fact, a linked hive mind, but at the same time, every one of them has his own distinct personality. They are not like ants in a colony, existing only to serve the Mother. The Na'vi are, instead, straight-up individual, they can only link to each-other physically, by linking their head USB cables, and even so, they only use it to communicate on a more intimate level, not to destroy the personality. I don't know much about the raptors sapiens, but we saw one of them play an instrument, a.k.a. doing something that requires creativity, personality, feelings and a unique mental setting, because every form of art is unique to the one performing it, who impresses his identity in it. Look at the drawing style of the Kaptain, you can tell it easily apart from the one of pretty much everybody else, not only for the trait, but also for the stylistic signs, such as the literally maniacal cure for the details. And if what you saw here impresses you, wait till you see what he did for our characters for the Pathfinder campaign./i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: How many sci-fi works use the 'eusocial hive mind' trait for aliens as a mean to further dehumanize them? this is my personal middle finger to such concepts.

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[22] Basically, if a civilization is not expanded like us, they are savages, and we have to kill them; on the other hand, if a civilization is more expanded than us, they are a Terrorist Imperialist Reich of Generic Evil, and we have to kill them. Well, that simplifies a lot./i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: It's called Hipocrisy, a basic requirement of populism.

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[23] Further evidence of her ignorance: Eywa is referred to not as a guy, but as a HER, considering she is called the Mother. And apparently, Olga also ignores that the animism is a common trait between many human civilizations and cultures, such as Native Americans, Aboriginals, many African people that never converted to Christianity, Inuits, the New Path of Gods, Wiccans and the followers of Saint Francis of Assisi. Either Olga is not as cultured as she would like people to believe, or she is ignoring facts in favor of demagoguery. Probably both./i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: Hard to tell.

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[24] Well, you and them should get along just swimmingly, you spent the entire article saying that those species are weaker than us and we should have the right to kill them with extreme prejudice.../i

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[25] Your own compatriots (who, incidentally, are also my compatriots) did much more atrocious stuff during the African Campaign in World War II, and in an even more cowardly way, and you know it. To specify, the Italian army got his ass whopped by Abyssinian warriors, numerically inferior and with less powerful weapons; so, the fascists did what every insecure dudebro does when something makes his penis feel small: they went on to hurt women and children. They used Yiprite, a gas so atrocious even Hitler forbid to use it to kill the Jews. Let me repeat this vital point: it was a weapon so cruel, Adolf Motherfucking Hitler literally FORBID to use it in the Lagers, despite being more economic than the Zyklon B, because he thought that, even by the standards of what Nazis did, using it to kill the "subhumans" was just unnecessarily evil. Fuck. So, anyway, Italians found the families of the warriors that defeated them, and launched Yiprite on them; they used airplanes, because they were so cowards they couldn't even fight on the ground a group of women, children and elders on the run, none of which was armed. 30,000 deaths, not a single one was a fighter. Breathing Yiprite feels like having your lungs being cleansed from the inside with an automatic brush covered in acid and sharp glasses. It happened near Amab-Aradam, and the soldiers were literally so PROUD of doing this, that when they returned home, "Making and Ambaradam" became Italian slang for "messing shit up with gusto". That's fucked up on so many level not even Family Guy would make a joke about it./i

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[26] So, we actually KNOW the numbers, it's not hundreds of millions of humans, but barely more than one hundred millions among all species, and the vast majority were OTHER species. Olga lied, what a shock./i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: Just like any good populist, she does not write for the informed, she writes for the ignorant. Still, the Great Venusian War replaced WW2 in common talk as the 'horrors of war'.

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[27] Yeah, Oriana did that, too: if you disagree with her, you are just a spoiled brat full of himself who knows nothing about the facts of life and wanted to speak just to sound important, and now your parents hate you and you brought shame on your House, you infidel!/i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: Oh well, if you disagree with internet bigots, aren't you a 'politically correct leftie communist libtard SJW pussy faggot mangina(if you're male, if you're not just list all of the variations of 'whore')'?

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[28] So, let me get this straight. We are an advanced civilization, so we have to right to decide that the legitimate, indigenous inhabitants of a planet are NOT legitimate, so we can take all the valuable stuff for ourselves, because the law of the arms and the right of conquest are, apparently, more important then the war protocols that every major nation subscribed. BUT, when the Ha-Lyiss came to kick some ass (or they would, had they had proper legs instead of a snake tail), armed with stuff that would make the Men In Black shit enough bricks to re-create the Taj-Mahal, and we were the weaker, invaded guys, suddenly the right of conquest is wrong and the invaders are a bunch of meanies. I know that seeking consistency in a speech written to confirm the racist ideas of the average redneck Bubba-Joe is stupid, but this philosophy just pisses me off. One of my few moral rules is as such: if you want to enforce the Law of the Strongest... you give up your right to go crying to mommy when you finally find a guy stronger than you (it ALWAYS happens) that beats you to a pulp. Also, PANDORA IS NOT A PLANET, YOU INSUFFERABLE DOLT, IT'S A SATELLITE!/i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: Populism again.

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[29] Apparently, for Future Italians, "welcoming with all the honors" translates as "Imprisoning war refugees in a ghetto because they don't want to re-invent their entire technology to make the weapons available to us, despite we knowing it's impossible, then moving them in a WC of a city miles outside proper Johannesburg, feeding them with cat food, forbidding them to eat cat food once we discovered that they like it, and then make up excuses to kill them anyway". Not much different from current-day Italy, telling the truth./i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: As i said, her only purpose is to tell to bigots what they want to hear, factual evidence be damned.

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[30] Racist Propaganda for Dummies, tip #749: when you are not accusing the demography you are attacking to be a mass of rapist, say that everything it does is a metaphor for rape./i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: Actually, this is a straight shot-out to one of Oriana's works, only she was referring to Genova(Hint: that city was decaying and full of crime way before any immigrant set foot there).

:icongambzilla::iconsaysplz:i[31] Yeah, it's a good thing you specified many times that you have nothing against black people. Otherwise, you calling the Africa a continent of troglodytes could have sounded racist to some ill-advised people./i

:iconkaptain-kefiah::iconsaysplz: That pesky coherency!...Damn it's hard being so subtle about metaphors!

Avatar: James Cameron

District 9: Neill Blomkamp

Weiji: Me


End file.
